


dumbstruck

by lupinely



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Closet Sex, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupinely/pseuds/lupinely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three glimpses into the day of James and Lily’s wedding. (Or: the closet blowjobs fic.) Remus/Sirius</p>
            </blockquote>





	dumbstruck

Remus wakes before dawn on the morning of James and Lily’s wedding, and he lies wide awake and looks up at the ceiling for a long time. Sirius has his face nuzzled against Remus’ neck, his arm flung over Remus’ chest, and Remus can feel Sirius’ heart beating against his ribs, the quiet systole. Remus’ feet are freezing and his head aches, but he does not move. He closes his eyes and counts heartbeats in the silence and feels—in a detached, impersonal sort of way—that he is clinging by the tips of his fingers to the edge of the world.

Sirius wakes after dawn, his grey eyes blinking up at Remus before he smiles, lazily, and presses a kiss to the side of Remus’ neck. “Hullo, Moony,” he says. “You’re up early.”

“Don’t remind me.” Remus tries to sound more light-hearted than he feels. Sirius rolls onto his back and stretches, long-limbed and young and soft-skinned, and he reaches out with one hand to lightly brush the side of Remus’ face. Remus closes his eyes.

“Go back to sleep,” Sirius says. “I’ll get everything ready. Do you want some aspirin?”

Remus hums a non-response, but he isn’t surprised when Sirius pads out of the room and comes back a few moments later with a cold glass of water and two aspirins, which he puts on Remus’ bedside table. Sirius had been skeptical of the pills when Remus had first shown them to him, but upon learning that they generally helped (at least a little) with the days before and after the full moon, Sirius has since become a fervent advocate of aspirin.

Sirius’ hand, cool, presses against Remus’ forehead. “Today’s the day,” he says, and then falls silent, and the immensity of it all swallows the silence whole.

“Yes, it is.” Remus sits up despite the pain that throbs in his forehead and picks up the aspirin. He opens his eyes just wide enough to watch Sirius, still naked, leave the bedroom to take a shower. Sirius looks back right before closing the door and grins, wicked, when he sees that Remus is watching him. Remus raises an eyebrow, swallows the aspirin, and rolls onto his stomach to try and catch up on the sleep he’s missed.

He wakes up two hours later to Sirius’ hand on his shoulder shaking him awake and Sirius’ voice whispering, “Come on, Moony, you don’t want to be late, do you? Also, I can’t seem to do my tie properly.”

Remus presses his face into the pillow, clinging desperately to sleep. He mutters, “You’ve been tying a tie since you were eleven years old, you lying little arse.”

“There’s nothing little about my arse, thank you.”

Remus throws the pillow at Sirius and forces himself out of bed. He still aches all over, but his head is no longer pounding, and the sun is at an acceptable angle above the horizon. “Let me see your tie, then. Where’s my suit?”

Sirius lays it on the bed next to Remus. “I ironed it,” he says proudly, and Remus smothers a small smile.

“Yes, I see that.” He takes both ends of Sirius’ tie and pulls him in for a light kiss. “Thank you.”

“Mm.” Sirius leans into Remus, his hands drifting up to cup Remus’ face. “Let’s stay home and get back into bed instead. I’ve never liked weddings, anyway.”

“You love weddings.” 

“I also love a Moony in my bed,” Sirius says. “I love that more than weddings, probably.”

“Probably?” Remus asks, but he smiles. He does Sirius’ tie and tries not to look at the smooth black shadow of Sirius’ eyelashes in the hollows of his eyes as Sirius looks down at Remus’ hands. When he’s done, he smoothes down the shoulders of Sirius’ dress shirt, then lets one thumb brush over the swell of Sirius’ bottom lip, smooth and pliant to Remus’ touch.

“There you go,” Remus says, and he steps away. “Tie conquered.”

“Thank you.” Sirius looks down at his hands, then back at Remus. “My hands were shaking too much,” he says, apologetically; “that’s why I couldn’t—the tie, I mean.” He sounds embarrassed. 

“You realize you’re not the one getting married, right?” Remus asks.

“I plan on living in sin for the rest of my days,” Sirius agrees, “especially if you’re living in sin with me. No, it’s just—it’s _James.”_

Remus gets up and starts putting on his suit, wondering whether there’s any way to make his hair presentable in the five minutes before they have to leave. “I know,” he says, and there it is again, the immenseness of it all. They are nineteen years old and around them a war is being fought, and James and Lily are getting married.

“How do you think they’re doing?” Remus asks, now tying his own tie. Sirius is watching his fingers.

“Lily is handling everything in stride, as always,” Sirius says. “James is probably pissing himself.”

“Your confidence in him is truly inspiring.” Remus pats down the front of his jacket. “There. What do you think?”

The slant to Sirius’ lovely mouth deepens. He stands up and tugs Remus close, his hands warm on Remus’ forearms. “You know what I think.”

+

The ceremony is short, and later Remus won’t remember much of it save that neither he nor Sirius cried, but James and Peter did. Lily just smiled at them both, gently, and it was all right. Sirius, as James’ best man, had a red rose in his lapel and Remus placed it there, wondering whether he’d ever be brave enough to give someone else his heart like this—in front of everyone, with roses and all the trimmings. He doesn’t even know whether he ever wants to. All he knows is that when he cuts his finger on a stray thorn on the rose, Sirius wipes the blood away with the corner of his sleeve, and that is a stain that will never come out.

At the reception, Sirius makes a toast. He raises his glass, his face flushed, his eyes bright. He looks beautiful with his crooked mouth, his long fingers wrapped around the champagne flute. 

The guests quiet down. They’re a small group—close friends and family, though the absence of Lily’s sister and of James’ parents is noticeably striking. Remus drains the last of his champagne and takes another glass. Sirius has already begun to speak.

“I won’t take long,” he says. “I do, in fact, know when to shut up.” James snorts. “And I know everyone wants to get back to their drinking and merrymaking—well, everyone who isn’t several months pregnant.”

“Being pregnant doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to use a wand, Black,” Lily says, her voice pleasant. But her green eyes are so bright, and Sirius just winks at her.

“In all honesty,” Sirius addresses both her and James now, “I always knew that you two would be together. Even when I didn’t. Even when Lily punched you in fifth year, Prongs. Deservedly, of course.” Everyone laughs, and Remus bites back a smile. 

“There’s a word for that sort of thing. I know people use it often—too often, I think. They don’t actually understand the meaning of the word. But I mean it in the deepest, most fundamental aspect. Two people who, when they’re together, you wonder how they could have ever been apart.”

Sirius’ eyes, from across the room, meet Remus’.

“Soul mates,” Sirius says. He looks back to Lily and James, who are looking at each other. James’ eyes are suspiciously wet again. Lily wipes a napkin beneath them, and James laughs, shakily.

“And I want you to know that I have never been happier to know two people in my entire life,” Sirius says. “I love you both with my whole heart, and you’re going to have a wonderful life together. A brilliant one. I’m just glad that I’m going to be here to see it.”

He tilts his glass a little, thoughtfully. “And that’s all I have to say,” he says. “To Lily and James.”

“To Lily and James,” everyone echoes, and they all drink. Remus’ mouth feels dry, even when he’s drained his second glass of champagne, and he takes a third, wrapping his hands around the glass like it’s the only solid thing left.

Lily and James take to the dance floor for the first dance not long after this. Remus watches them, heartstruck and lovesick in equal measure, not sure how to understand the happiness he feels when he looks at them, nor the trepidation, either. Lily has her head on James’ shoulder, her eyes closed, her long dark red hair in curls around her face. James has a hand on the place between her shoulders and at the base of her spine, keeping her close, and he’s looking down at her, curled into her, consumed by her. They look so grown up and so young. They look beautiful.

Sirius cuts in first, of course, and insists on taking James as his partner. He spins James away from Lily to general laughter from everyone else. Remus holds his hand out to Lily when Sirius and James have gone stampeding around the dance floor in a terrifying sort of tango. Lily smiles, her eyes bright, and takes Remus’ hand. 

“They look quite handsome together,” Lily says. “Sirius would make a lovely bride.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Remus says. “He’ll be insisting that you let him wear your dress.”

“He already asked if he could,” Lily says. “I let him try on the veil. I didn’t think he could ruin that in only a few minutes.”

“Did he?”

“No,” Lily says. “He was very careful.”

Remus snorts. Lily tightens her fingers around his hand as she leads him through the dance. Her eyes seek James through the crowd. “I can’t believe he cried,” she says. “Even my mother hasn’t cried yet.”

“Lily,” Remus says, because he needs to say it. “I’m so happy for you. For you both.” He wonders whether Lily will know how much he means it—how much he’s trying to say.

Lily smiles. Her eyes, bright green, never leave Remus’. “I’m happy for you too, Remus,” she says, and she leans against him as they dance, slowly, through the crowd.

+

Remus drifts through the reception after this, making small talk when people approach him, watching the dancers when they don’t. He doesn’t know where Sirius has gone. The reception is getting louder, and drunker, and more intense as the night goes on, and Remus just wants to go home and crawl into bed and close his eyes without seeing the outline of the waxing moon behind his eyes when he tries to sleep.

“Moony.”

Remus blinks. Sirius is there, watching him. His eyes are dark. 

“How much have you had to drink?” Sirius asks, looking at the glass in Remus’ hand. Remus shrugs. 

“Not enough, I bet.” Sirius takes Remus’ glass and sets it on a table before taking Remus by the elbow and steering him forcefully from the room.

“Where are we going?” Remus asks.

Sirius doesn’t say anything, just walks briskly down the hall, looking right and left for—what, Remus has no idea.

“Sirius?” Remus asks. “Won’t they notice we’re gone?”

“Nah,” Sirius says. “Everyone’s too drunk or too busy being newlyweds to notice that you and I have gone off together.”

“Okay,” Remus says. “Just—where are we going, exactly?”

“Through here,” Sirius says. “Ah—yeah. Perfect.” He throws open a door and shoves Remus inside before following and shutting the door behind them.

There’s silence. Remus looks around, which is pointless as they are standing in near complete darkness. “Sirius,” Remus says, slowly now. “I’m fairly certain this is a closet.”

“I’m aware of that.” Sirius sounds amused. Dimly, Remus can see him starting to kneel.

“What are we doing in a closet?” Remus asks.

Sirius sighs. “You’re ruining this, Moony,” he says in a warning tone, and then he starts to undo the button of Remus’ trousers.

Remus sucks in a breath. “Oh,” he says as Sirius tugs down his zipper. “I understand why we’re in a closet now.”

“Finally,” Sirius says, and then he reaches for Remus’ boxers.

Remus grabs him by the wrist, his fingers curling around the pulse point beneath Sirius’ skin. “Hold on,” he says. “You can’t just—” He pulls Sirius to his feet. 

Sirius exhales, frustrated, and presses close to Remus. He slips his knee between Remus’ thighs. “Pretty sure this is the first time anyone’s ever turned down a blow job,” he says, his breath warm on Remus’ neck.

“Not turning down,” Remus says, “I just want—I—” He gives up on trying to make himself clear, not sure what he even wants to say; he’s felt like this the entire day, this build-up, this crescendoing of the unknown. He can’t face any of it, and in this moment—here, just him and Sirius alone in the dark, Sirius’ hand creeping down Remus’ waist—Remus doesn’t even want to.

He turns his face to Sirius’, their mouths so close that Remus can feel the heat of Sirius’ lips. “Shut up,” Remus says, even though neither of them is speaking, and then he kisses Sirius, hard, desperately, and Sirius kisses him back, his fingers digging suddenly into Remus’ hipbones and pulling him close. Remus runs his hands up Sirius’ back, tangles them in Sirius’ long hair, opens his mouth when Sirius runs his tongue over Remus’ bottom lip. Sirius’ tongue flicks against Remus’ teeth and the roof of his mouth and Remus swallows the noise that builds in his throat, chases back the warmth of Sirius’ mouth and tilts his head back, gasps and tugs on Sirius’ hair when Sirius breaks away. Sirius scrapes his teeth over Remus’ jaw and licks the outline of his Adam’s apple, his mouth hot, the blood pulsing beneath Remus’ fingertips and in his fingertips and Sirius’ hands cradling him in the place between his shoulder blades, bearing him up.

Sirius’ breathing is ragged, and he licks a line back up to Remus’ mouth and kisses him again. Remus sighs, slips his hands under Sirius’ jacket and untucks his dress shirt so that he can touch skin, scrape his fingernails up Sirius’ spine. Sirius shudders beneath his touch, murmurs something, breathless, that sounds like Remus’ name. And then he slips one hand between them, warm and undaunted, and wraps his graceful fingers around the base of Remus’ cock.

Remus bites down on Sirius’ lower lip and sucks in a breath, clinging to Sirius by his fingernails, by his teeth. Sirius is laughing quietly into Remus’ mouth, still kissing him, twisting his hand as Remus arches against him.

“Now can I?” Sirius whispers, and he kisses Remus’ nose, his shoulder, his collarbone.

“Yes,” Remus says, and Sirius lowers himself to his knees, slowly this time, pushing Remus’ dress shirt up and kissing his stomach, his hipbones, digging his fingers into the skin of Remus’ hips before reaching around and gripping Remus’ arse, firmly.

“Don’t tease,” Remus says.

“So says you,” Sirius says, but he’s grinning, and then he pushes Remus’ trousers down to his knees and licks up the underside of Remus’ cock.

Sirius’ blowjobs are wet, messy, and have Remus coming in a short while under the best circumstances, which this certainly isn’t. Remus, still muzzy from the champagne and the enclosed space and the heat of Sirius’ mouth, knows when he’s going to come, too quickly, and he digs his fingers into Sirius’ shoulder to warn him. Sirius sucks harder, the lightest swirl of his tongue, and Remus comes, one arm thrown up over his eyes.

When Sirius leans back and gets to his feet, Remus pulls him in by his tie and kisses him, fiercely.

“Mm,” Sirius says, a half-laugh. “Moony.” He presses up against Remus, his cock hard against Remus’ thigh, moving slowly against him. Remus presses the palm of his hand to the front of Sirius’ trousers, and Sirius moans.

Remus bites Sirius’ lower lip. “Quiet, or someone will barge in and find us.”

“You say that like I should care,” Sirius says, his breath hot, and he is still seeking Remus’ mouth when Remus tries to pull away. “God, Moony.” He kisses him.

“No noise,” Remus says, insistent this time. “Or I’ll gag you with your stupid tie.”

He can feel Sirius grin. “You know, I might enjoy that.”

“Next time,” Remus says, and he drops to his knees in front of Sirius, undoing his trousers. Sirius leans back against the wall, his knees spread, and one of his hands curls into Remus’ hair as Remus slides Sirius’ boxers down his thighs.

“All right,” Remus says, “remember what I told you,” and he wraps his hand around the base of Sirius’ cock. Sirius’ whole body stiffens, and his head thumps against the wall when he throws it back, but he doesn’t make a noise otherwise, his lips pressed tightly together. Remus smiles to himself, a strange burning warmth in the place behind his ribs, and then he takes Sirius into his mouth, careful to scrape his teeth gently along the underside of Sirius’ cock, just the way Sirius likes it.

“Christ,” Sirius whispers. Remus tightens his hand around Sirius’ cock, a warning, and Sirius shuts up again, though his hand tightens painfully in Remus’ hair for a brief moment. With his other hand, he starts to loosen his tie.

Remus runs his free hand up the back of Sirius’ thighs as he sets a smooth rhythm, jacking Sirius with his right hand and matching that pace with his mouth. Sirius’ fingers dig into Remus’ scalp, more like a reassurance than a supplication. Sirius’ skin beneath Remus’ fingers is flushed with warmth, and his pulse pounds, and Remus can taste the salt of Sirius’ skin and smell the warmth of his scent. He is consumed by it, by Sirius. He feels exhumed, like he’s been exposed to sunlight for the first time since his unexpected burial. 

“Moony,” Sirius murmurs, over and over, his voice quiet, barely a whisper. “Moony, Moony, _Moony—”_

Remus twirls his tongue around the head of Sirius’ cock, and Sirius’ whole body trembles. Sirius uses his free hand to brace himself against the wall, and Remus can hear him breathing, the rapid swelling of his lungs. 

“Ah,” Sirius says, his breath uneven, a hiss, and he arches away from the wall as Remus hollows his cheeks and scrapes his fingernails over the small of Sirius’ back. “Remus,” Sirius says, and he’s urgent now, “I’m going to—”

He does, his knees nearly giving out, and Remus uses both hands to hold him up, gripping the back of Sirius’ thighs as Sirius shakes and comes down Remus’ throat, his breathing hoarse and ragged as he can barely stand.

Sirius is silent afterwards, his thighs still shaking beneath Remus’ hands. Remus draws back and looks up in the darkness, trying to see Sirius’ face, and then he hears the hitch in Sirius’ breath.

“Sirius?” Remus gets unsteadily to his feet. Sirius pulls up his trousers and starts fumbling with the zipper, his hands shaking, his head bent so that Remus can’t see him. “Are you—”

Remus doesn’t say it, because he suddenly knows Sirius will never forgive him if he does. Instead, he steps in close, covers Sirius’ hands in his. Sirius stops fussing with the zipper and exhales through his nose, slowly. His eyes are sparkling, and when Remus reaches up to touch Sirius’ face, his fingers come away damp.

Remus sweeps his thumb beneath Sirius’ eyes. “Hey,” he says, suddenly unsure of what to say but sure, at least, that he must say something. “Sirius.”

Sirius shakes his head, biting on his lower lip.

“It’s okay,” Remus says, overwhelmed by his helplessness, and he reels when Sirius collapses against him and buries his face in Remus’ shoulder to mask the sob that convulses through him.

Remus rubs his hands over Sirius’ back, taking in his warmth. He doesn’t say anything else, and they stand there for a long time, Sirius’ face against Remus’ neck, until Sirius stops trembling.

“Sorry,” Sirius finally says, his voice muffled. “I’m—shit. Sorry.” His nose sounds stuffed. He pulls away, scrubbing at his eyes.

“For what?” Remus asks. 

And Sirius, in the dark, almost smiles at him.


End file.
